The Great Typo Hunt_ Two Friends Changing the World, One Correction at a Time - Jeff Deck [90]
I’m pleased to report that, save for the single exception of a sign using tack-on letters that had no spare apostrophes available, every typo we battled on the Hanover Plain met its end. The town provided ideal typo-hunting ground, greeting me with a receptive heart or, if not that exactly, at least good humor. Main Street held few shops you’d recognize as national chains, and the friendly folks I found in these local businesses were exceptionally receptive. A candy shop featured a much sweeter experience than I’d had with the nonpareil seller in Albany; the girl behind the counter consented to my request to fix the spelling of “cocao,” but only after first explaining to her little brother, who was helping her, why the change needed to be made. She printed a new label and let him find the difference. At a local sporting goods store, the owner became defensive when I pointed out the WOMEN’S WINTER HAT’S sign, starting to say that someone else had made the signs—and then he stopped himself, declaring that he needed to take responsibility for the error. He granted permission for the fix and even hastened to point out a MEN’S WINTER HAT’S sign that I had missed, so that I could amend that one, too.
I don’t want to give the false impression that Benjamin slacked off while at his favorite Hanover restaurant. In fact, he introduced his professor to his newest hobby during lunch. Once you check the text around you with an eye to grammar and spelling, he explained, they leap out at you. By pointing to the chalkboard opposite their table, he immediately validated his claim. Therein lay a rendering of Guinness that seemed to lack its usual thickness (“Guiness”). Professor Susan Ackerman responded by noting that the Zinfandel had turned “Zinfendel,” smoothly bringing herself into our ranks. Benjamin brought me back to Molly’s as soon as we reconnoitered, advising me to have my chalk at the ready. The bartender, well used to obnoxious Dartmouth kids pulling stunts and tricks in his domain, still readily consented to some quick fixes. Fortunately, whoever had originally chalked the sign used approximately the same colors that I had, so nothing stuck out too badly. We had a Cheers moment as wait staff and patrons alike—including one who’d seen us on the news—joined in on the fun, asking us about our journey and giving us heartily up-flung thumbs.
We headed out to drinks with my own thesis adviser, Professor Ernie Hebert, who’d also taught Benjamin once. The specials sign outside the pub, Murphy’s, listed a curious element in one of its hors d’oeuvres. Mmm …“coconunut”. I wondered if it came with any Hawiian Island Sauce, though perhaps the extra syllable was enough to ensure extra flavor. Benjamin and I shared the tale of our journey with Ernie. As an English teacher, he could appreciate the TEAL mission, but he was amazed that we had survived a near-entire circuit around the country without getting our noses punched inside out. A professor to the last, even as we relaxed and knocked back beers, he pressed us for answers about what we’d learned from our travails, backing up Benjamin’s Chicago assertion that we were in it for us now, for the experience more than for the typo correcting. I appreciated his ability to dive right into a deeper discussion of the mission, even as I faltered in my attempt to draw satisfying conclusions about what we’d seen and done. After the drinks, Benjamin and I stood around for an extra moment outside, long enough to make a quick swipe (Benjamin taking out most of the second n and the ut after it) and slice (my own strike of the chalk against the board, converting the left side of the decimated n into a t).
We drove south that night to Manchester and my mother, Benjamin blasting his